


Predilection

by henryholmesacademia



Series: Predilection [1]
Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Henry Cavill - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes 2020
Genre: Enola Holmes spoilers, F/M, i don't know how to tag, reader is a mix between the Irene Adlers from Sherlock the series and Sherlock Holmes the movies, reader is miss harrison's niece, this is a reader insert even if I don't use y/n or you, this is what we don't see in Enola Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henryholmesacademia/pseuds/henryholmesacademia
Summary: An old acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes re-enters his life after the disappearance of his sister and mother. The only problem? She has her own agenda.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Reader, Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Series: Predilection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969384
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first time posting on ao3 so I hope I can do it alright. I was watching Enola Holmes and got the idea for this story and decided to put it out online because that was a smart thing to do. Well, I hope you like it!

This isn’t a special story.

Might not even be a story at all.

But rather a telling of events that happened in a certain order and have been strung together to create a tale that could cure the boredom of the mind and indulge the land of fantasy.

We won’t start from the beginning. I’ll spare you the boring details and let you come to your own conclusions.

We’ll start our telling of tales in a humble tearoom.

The famous detective Sherlock Holmes had just finished having a somewhat futile conversation with Edith in the search for his younger sister. Come to think of it, it was not much of a conversation as much as it was a reprimanding of sorts. It might even be considered educating him on a subject he knew nothing of and needed a good slap into reality.

“You said she was traveling with a boy?” Sherlock inquired as she was making her exit from the room.

She stops at the doorway. “A useless boy, she called him. I couldn’t help but be reminded of a woman who traveled through here yesterday. We were about to close when she came in. She was wet from rain, but she didn’t seem to mind it at all.” She turns to look at him. “She said you would be here today, and it seems her assumption was correct. She told me that she would be waiting for you at 6 o'clock, Mr. Holmes, and that you had better dress nicely.”

“She left no name?” He raises an eyebrow.

Edith shrugged. “She was very certain that you would know who she was and that you would know exactly where she wanted you.”

Sherlock Holmes has always been talented at keeping his cool. Demonstrating no emotion. His face, some compared it to the likeness of a statue with how unmoved he was in situations.

This would be no different. It had been years since he had last seen the woman who was beckoning him.

And yet, she was always able to pique his curiosity.

“I see you received my message, Mr. Holmes.” Her voice was only accompanied by the sound of her heels. It had seemed that all sound in the bustle of society had come to a stop. No clinking of glass. No servers rushing passed them. It was just her. “And you dressed for the occasion.” Her eyes zero in on his attire. “I do love a man in a tie, as I’m sure you are aware.“ Oh, how she loved to tease him.

The detective knew basic manners, he was taught right from wrong, how to be respectful toward women, not to mention he had observed enough of the body language and cues of people. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stand up and pull out a chair for her.

"I thought sending you a message would better prepare you for this, but I see it made no difference.” She sets her bag on the table and sits down on her own accord. She both loved and hated etiquette. There were so many rules and guidelines to follow. However, it did work to her advantage at times. “Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what adventure are you on right at this moment?”

“When did you return from overseas?” He manages to find his voice, though he never meant to lose it.

“I’ve been told that you are looking for someone. Could it be that marquee from the papers?” She stirs the spoon of the tea that a server had set down in front of her.

“You are avoiding my question. Mycroft is not aware that you are back, is he?” He lets out a deep breath. There was never a chance of getting a straight answer from her. She only knew how to respond in teasing and quick wit. Every smile devious, and every word was calculated.

“And you are very rudely avoiding mine.” Her smile, that teasing smile of hers. “Would you like help with the case of the marquee? If you ask nicely, I’ll go with you. Finding people who don’t want to be found is a specialty of mine.” She lifts the teacup from the saucer to her mouth innocently enough, but he knew better.

“But dealing with the damage you leave in your wake isn’t?” His words stop her drink and she places the cup back on the saucer.

“What a pity.” Her face forms a small pout. “I was rather liking our game.”

“You always think of things as some kind of game. There is going to be a day when you will find not everyone wants to join in. Not everyone is a toy who is vying for your attention in hope that you will play with them.”

“I will learn that the day you learn that people are more than answers to riddles.” She challenges. “Indulge me for a moment, why did you come here? You knew it was me who sent for you. You remembered my favorite restaurant, my favorite tea, and if they did not give you this table, I will forever assume that you were the one who asked for the table that was in the farthest corner of the room.”

“You do not want Mycroft to know you are here.” He tries to gauge her reaction and steer the conversation. Like always, she gives a grin. A true Cheshire cat smile.

“No. And you forget, Mr. Holmes, nobody knows anything until I want them to know.” She gathers her purse and stands up from the chair. “Here I was, hoping that we would have a nice dinner. It’s been…” she trails off as she looks for the right word. “Refreshing to see you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Why waste your time having dinner with me?” He can’t help but ask her. Just from observing her, he remembered how she would do nothing if it did not have a motive that she would find useful.

She pauses for a moment as she considers his question and gives him a genuine smile. A rare, but beautiful sight. “Is it so hard to believe that your company might be missed?” As she walks past him, she leans down close to his ear. “As for earlier, this isn’t a game to me, Mr. Holmes. But if it was…you were always my favorite player.” She whispers and leaves him to dwell with the aroma of sugar and spice in the air.

The great detective takes to his pipe that night as he stares into the fire. If you were to see him, you would think that he would be calculating his next move or contemplating his own life. That he would be entirely concerned for the welfare of his sister or mother that has vanished into thin air.

No.

He was thinking about his encounter with that woman. Not even the one from this evening, but all the previous ones he had with her. Each one is more memorable than the last. But none shall ever haunt his memory as much as when he first met her.

_He never expected such a woman of high society to be standing in the same room with Lestrade right next to a crime scene. Her voice floated melodiously through the room as he walked through the front door. The smell of spice and sugar leads him to where a woman had her back turned to him while answering the Scotland Yard inspector’s questions._

_“Ah, Mr. Holmes this is-” Lestrade begins._

_The woman turns to see him, the ensemble on her hat was grand and elegant, but her striking eyes that hide the mischief behind them and her smile, which seemed to match the sentiment, was not hidden or dimmed. They were…quite beautifully complemented by it, as he recalled the words his mother said to him once as a child. She extends her gloved hand. “Miss Harrison.” She finishes for Lestrade with a pearly white smile. “And you are?” She inquires._

_He was shocked for a moment as her hand was extended toward him. Society would not have allowed it to happen as a young woman should never extend her hand, and she did not seem to be married. Her glove did not have an outdent from a wedding ring._

_“This is Sherlock Holmes, we ask him for consultation, and he comes when he’s bothered to read a telegram from us,” Lestrade adds when Sherlock remains stoic and silent._

_The corners of her mouth seemed to turn up even higher at that. “My oh my, Mr. Holmes, the papers do not do you justice.” She looks straight at his eyes when she speaks again. “Tell me, has anybody ever told you how incredibly blue your eyes are? Why, I keep finding myself stopping to admire them.”_

_“No, miss, I can not say that I have.” He releases her hand and clears his throat while stepping forward to examine what Lestrade had originally summoned him for a routine theft. But from what he could tell, the jewelry stolen was not the woman’s jewelry. For she seemed to not wear any. Women who could afford such jewelry never left their households without displaying a few pieces and any fortune she might have clearly was being spent and invested in their extravagant garments and perfumes._

_“I apologize. He’s not - well he does tend to act like that sometimes.” Lestrade finds himself in a very awkward position at the moment._

_She turns to see him examining a table, observing his side profile. “There is no need for an apology, inspector Lestrade. He’s exactly as I imagined him to be. He’ll do nicely for this case. My employer would be pleased.”_

_“Who is your employer again? I never caught the name.”_

_“Oh, I didn’t say. They would prefer it if they were not associated with what happened at all.” She pauses for a moment. “Is that any problem, Mr. Holmes?” Her voice is a little louder to get his attention._

_He ignores her question._

_Just as the inspector is about to apologize again, she gives him a grin. “I quite like him, Lestrade. I might just keep him on.”_

And keep him she did.

Sherlock takes out her handkerchief that she had slipped into his pocket when she was whispering in his ear, embroidered with her initials and the outline of her lipstick. A color that was almost as bold as she was. He held it up to his nose and, sure enough, it was the scent of sugar and spice


	2. Predilection Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your support on the last chapter! I will try to update every Friday!

The woman sighs as she presses a hand to the windowpane to admire the moon. Glass cold under her touch from the bitter air of the night. The city of London is displayed out in front of her. Street lamps were being turned off for the night, as were the lights that shone through the other windows. Even cities had to retire at some point. 

She revels in the small rush of adrenaline this afternoon gave her. Seeing him again, made what one could have considered flutters in her stomach if she ever had those in the first place. Unlike her acquaintance, she did on occasion show her emotions. One could even say that she "wore her heart on her sleeve" as it was. But she's learned how to keep up a face. Only let others see what she allows them. It makes her job easier, it helps appeal her skills to potential employers. This employer, especially. 

She heard the creak of the floorboard from in front of her room that she rented. The sound of the paper scraping the bottom of the door as it moves from the hallway into the room. While it was not a calling card from her "favorite player", she was not any less disappointed with the simple words written on the page. 

_ Limehouse. Tomorrow.  _

Well then, this should be fun. 

\------ 

Miss Harrison was a lady by no means delicate, but still, the utter stench of the alleyway had her gagging as soon as she crossed. She covered her nose and mouth with a hand as she had given her handkerchief to Sherlock last night. Well...she slipped it in his pocket in hopes of toying with him. Her favorite sport. 

The lock of the door catches her eye, as there was no lock and the rest of the wooden place looked to be hanging by a single beam. 

"Good gracious!" She exclaims looking at the damage. "This is well above my pay grade." She mumbles as she squeezes in between two fallen pieces of wall. 

Getting dirty was a daily occurrence in her job, she was not immune to it. But she refuses to believe that in only a minute of walking through the door she is expected to get her new white gloves, courtesy of a recently widowed Lord, covered in soot. 

The half-burned book is one that she does need to properly dispose of, the wooden crates need to be broken apart further than they already were, and the science equipment out in the open truly needs to be made scarce. These ladies were attracting too much attention to a cause that needed the element of surprise. 

Her cleaning expedition takes her longer than she thought, and given the sound of the creaking floorboard getting louder, she wasn't the only one sent here. She makes her way to what was left of the back of the location and fixes her appearance in the reflection of a broken mirror. Using a piece of mirror that was on the floor, she uses it to look behind the doorway to see who her soon-to-disappear guest is. 

She would recognize those broad shoulders anywhere, so what business does Sherlock have with this? She takes a moment to fix her lipstick as well as dab some of the sweat that accumulated on her brow, and after she checks her pocket watch, she concludes she has a few minutes to torment him. 

"Well, well, well, Mr. Sherlock." She moves from behind the barely-there wall. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you were following me." Her smile can only be painted as smug while she clasps her hands in front of her figure, having made sure to remove her scoot-covered gloves. 

"Did you do this?" He gestures around to the nearly empty room, oblivious to her flirtation as always. How typical of men. 

"No 'hello'?" Her eyebrow quirks up, but she catches his stern look and decides to tell him the truth. "This is not my work, Mr. Holmes. This was the state I greeted it in." Well, some truth. The walls are still in the same condition she found them in. 

"I find that hard to believe." He states. "This is very different from the way I left it when I came earlier." 

"Returning to the scene of the crime, were you?" She walks closer to him. "Believe me, Mr. Holmes-" 

"I have a hard time doing so." He cooly responds as his hand drags against the wooden table. 

"And he comes with a bite!" She feigns shock at his response. "Mr. Holmes, I can assure you that this is the state I found it in. I was just as shocked as you when I first found it." 

"What are you doing here?" He inquires while looking at the now empty table. 

"I was looking for someone if you must know. I assume you are doing the same." 

"Who are you looking for?" 

"I could ask you the same question." She counters. "You can't help but ask what a missing marquee would be doing here. Unless it's not the marquee you are after." 

"Good day, Miss Harrison." He tips her hat. It seems she had hit a sore subject. 

"I can help you." She offers. "It is what I am doing for my employer. Whoever it is you are looking for, judging by their connection to this location, has to have some relationship with the person I am looking for." 

He stops on his way out. "Thank you for your generosity, but I must decline. Excuse me." 

"Mr. Holmes, with all due respect, your talent lies in solving mysteries and I specialize in finding people."  _ Not to mention putting an end to them. _ "You work alone with nothing besides very few inquiries, while I have endless contacts and acquaintances." She reasons. "The person you are looking for, are they worth the time that could have been avoided if you would have accepted my help?" 

"Stubborn woman." He mutters under his breath. 

"What is stubborn about knowing what you want? I know that this is a case that I want to help you with." She walks over to him and straightens his tie. "Mr. Holmes, tell me you have not forgotten what a great team we make." 

He gently removes her hand from his tie. "I try to forget." 

"Oh, how your words of indifference wound me." Her teasing voice contrasting with the faux look of sadness on her face. She makes her way to the door. "Are you coming or not, Mr. Holmes?" 

\------

"You are being awfully quiet." The young detective looks up at the voice that calls him from across the carriage. "You have always been the quiet sort, but I thought by now you would have been interrogating me." 

"I have no patience for questions that go unanswered." He answers, honestly. He knows the young woman in front of him to be mysterious, flirty, and too modern for her own good. Or rather his own good. The detective knows of her games. He's found himself on the receiving end of them plenty of times. 

He observes the countryside passing through the window and thinks to himself how her games have improved if she is now able to pay for carriages instead of stealing train tickets. His train ticket if we want to nitpick. 

He then observes his companion, the closed-lipped smile on her face as she pulls out a pocket watch, his pocket watch. "Quite a pickpocket you are. I nearly had forgotten." 

"I took it as a keepsake, Mr. Holmes. It felt as if you were always with me." She holds it closer to her figure so that he would not try to take it back. "For the next three minutes, you can ask me any question you would like and I have to answer honestly." 

"You have done this before and you never gave a satisfactory answer. The statements were only truthful because they were broad answers without substance." 

"And you remain aloof as always. Every one of those answers was on a need-to-know basis. You asked me when I was returning, and I replied that you would be aware of when I returned. Were you not aware?" 

"After how many days? How long were you in England before you decided to start your game? Before you sent your inner circle of people to torment? A week? A month?" His voice was getting louder toward the end of his accusation. 

"None of this is a game, Sherlock! I do not know what else I could do to prove that to you!" Her eyes close as she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. 

The remained silent for a few moments, her using his first name did not go unnoticed but he did not choose to acknowledge or dwell on it. 

Sherlock breaks the silence first. "When I asked you why you were running away…" 

She looks at him, both sadness and fondness in her face as if she was replaying the moment in her head. "My answer was truthful." 

And there they left the conversation. 

Silence fell upon the carriage with the only noise being the driver's commands to the horses and the stomping of the hooves. 

\------

They arrived later that afternoon to a small, quaint inn. An elderly woman greets them and compliments them on their appearance as a couple, saying that their children would be beautiful. 

Before Sherlock can disagree with her forwardness, his companion links her arm through his, giving a smile and a small _'thank you'_ as she takes the key and gently pulls on his arm with a _'Don't stand there all day, my dear.'_

Sherlock is surprised at the size of the room. The quality of the bed with all of its pillows and embroidered blanket. No expense seemed to be spared at the cost of decorating the room with high-end lamps, antique furniture, and quite beautiful light fixtures.

While he knew his companion never struggled or wanted for money, this was beyond the price he remembered her being able to afford. He had not heard of a death in her family for her to garner an inheritance. She never spoke much of her employer. Never gave any description or revealed any useful knowledge. 

"It is easier to get around if we pretend to be a happily married couple. No one will try to stick their nose in our business." She gets her bag from him and places it on the bed. "This brings back so many fond memories. Don't you think, Mr. Holmes?" 

"That was only one time, it was very long ago, and we agreed to never speak of it again." He can't help but feel as if he had forgotten something. A factor of some sort. He can't put his finger on it. 

"I have never forgotten." She smiles. "Now, let's talk about dinner." 

\------

"This is why I do not travel with companions." She hears him mutter as he flips his watch out and places it back in his pocket. So much time was being wasted waiting on their dishes. "What information can be gathered here?" She had dragged him out to a very elegant restaurant with a very spacious dining room. Every woman wore an elegant, no doubt imported, evening gown while every man wore a tailored suit and tie. 

"My dear, Mr. Holmes, there is so much knowledge to be obtained here. Once you get some food in your stomach and a glass of alcohol in you, you will see I am right." She reaches over and pats the back of his hand reassuringly. "I would have thought that you out of all people could have known what information could be gathered here." She leans closer to him over the table and whispers in his ear. "In a room full of high society's best. The only people who think their secrets matter when in reality the cook knows more than the husband who is having an affair, the widow who killed, or the child who spent their inheritance for the wiles of the world. These people, Mr. Holmes, have power and leverage as well as their weaknesses. You just need to prey on the right one." 

She returns to her seat when the server comes and places their plates in front of them. The detective looks around, to try to see what she has taken notice of. "Is that why you ran away from this life?" 

"Running away requires fleeing from something that you are afraid of. I am not afraid of a life of pearls, having a maid wait on my hand and foot, or having a husband. I just simply choose not to have it. I would much rather be here having dinner with you. You make for a wonderful companion, unlike the boring businessman I would have sitting in front of me if I did marry." 

"I do not believe he was a business-" 

"By the door, a man just walked in who owes me a favor. Go and give him my name, he will help you find who you are looking for." Her eyes seemed to dart toward the powder room. "You speak with him while I go and powder my nose." 

"How will he-" 

"Believe what you want, Mr. Holmes, but trust me when I tell you that he will help give you the information that you need to find whoever it is you are looking for. He will not speak to you if I am here, when you finish speaking to him, go and wait for me outside of the powder room. Now get up, and go offer to buy him a drink." 

For once, he seems to follow her orders and he is able to gain some information, but it piqued his curiosity about why the man's face resembled that of having just seen a ghost when her name was mentioned, and immediately began looking for the woman. After the exchange, he waited for her near the wall of the powder room. One woman passed in front of him and she gave him a glance of indifference out of the corner of her eye. Unusual, but not uncommon. Until his companion arrived and seemed to be placing a paper in her bag. She looks up in shock to see him. "Done so soon? How many drinks did you give him? He never gives information that easily."

"What are you hiding in your bag?" She had wanted him to not see it. What else is she hiding from him?

"My heart. Which is why it is so small. Shall we finish dining?" She tries to step away from him, but he stands in front of her again. 

"What are you keeping from me?" He blocks her passage. For just one weekend, could she not be honest with him? 

"Both everything and nothing, Mr. Holmes. Now let me through." 

"You said you weren't playing a game. If we are to be partners, you need to tell me the truth." 

"Let me ask you a question, have you told me who you are looking for?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You haven't told me who you are looking for either."

"Then I guess we both are hiding things from each other. We both acknowledge it, now let's put it past us." 

"Because that went so well-" he is cut off by her hands being placed on the sides of his face and pulling him down to meet her lips. Her hands tangling themselves on the hair that reached his neck. His hand went to her waist to steady himself.

Sherlock heard a scoff and the rustling of fabric before she pulled away. 

She smooths the front of her dress while he is standing there, just mildly confused about what had happened. 

"Well then, shall we go finish eating?" She leaves him there, only calling after him over her shoulder. "Are you going to stand there in shock all night or are you going to come to eat?" 

They are silent during dinner, the only noise being the sound of silverware scraping their plates. The ride back to the inn being as quiet with them looking in opposite directions. 

It wasn't until the young detective arrived at the room that he finally figured out what was wrong with the situation. 

There was only one bed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I couldn't not use the "there was only one bed" trope! Until next Friday, lovelies!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope you enjoyed and none of this would be possible without my wonderful beta, anya_writes. Thank you so much, love. Please let me know your thoughts!!


End file.
